One of the posher hermits from the Oxford area. He also owns a holiday cave in Cornwall.

The inner peace of live-alone enthusiasts was shattered last night when their AGM was infiltrated by a quiet gang of introverts, intent on spreading apprehension and a general sense of unease.

“It was difficult enough getting the invitations out to the many caves and iron-age huts scattered throughout the land without post codes,” said Lionel Garage, who hosted the event in a barn on his farm.

“Trying to persuade hermits to come out of their shells for a knees-up once a year is a nightmare in itself, but when the event gets gate-crashed by other groups of a-social beings, you’ve got an impotent mix of self-examination in a non-interactive community. It was almost a metaphor for the Brexit negotiations.”

Things started to take a turn when some French people came over from Normandy on the night ferry. So-called Les Ennuis du Nuit, a ruthless group of continental stress-related insomniacs, took on members of the infamous München Angst Gang in an epic battle of fear and foreboding.

As in previous years, there was only one delegate representing the minority Solipsist Party, and she kindly acted as referee. After two rounds, she dismissed both teams for lacking any real substance and declared herself the winner.

Further gesturing and posturing flared when a mime artist from Dunstable got into a heated argument with a Benedictine monk. As the police arrived, the monk ran towards PC Flegg, breaking his 25-year vow of silence and shouting “Look out, the pigs are here!” and was promptly tasered in the face for disrespectful behaviour.

PC Flegg soon had the situation under control, encouraging everyone to put a bag over their head and join in a throat-warbling chorus of Om to settle them down. The peace was only spoilt by the onslaught of wild boars which had eaten their way in through the back of the barn.

“Ah, the pigs are here,” said PC Flegg. “You,” she added, turning to the monk, “shut up.”

It’s not the first time Garage has had trouble hosting events. Last year, his Time Travellers Convention landed him in hot water for not having planning permission.

“You can’t plan for a Time Travellers Convention,” he said. “This one was arranged 1,000 years in the future and they materialised overnight without prior warning right in the middle of my barley crop. By the time I realised they were there, they’d already set up a lucrative business selling pegs and lucky charms.”